


War is hell

by deathtosanepeople



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: 'lil bit of fluff, Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Finnpoe - Freeform, First Kiss, Lots of hugging tbh, M/M, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Stormpilot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathtosanepeople/pseuds/deathtosanepeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“War is hell.”</p><p>It’s a saying he’s heard repeated many times after he awakes from his coma. Uttered in low, bitter tones around the base, from high ranking to low, from young to old. </p><p>It strikes him as odd, this saying. Of course war is hell. It’s death, destruction and pain. But what good is it to say? It doesn’t change anything. </p><p>It’s not until weeks later, when he’s taking his first unassisted walk around the base, that he truly grasps the meaning, the reason behind its continual repetition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War is hell

**Author's Note:**

> This little number was edited by my bestest friend in the whole wide world - 
> 
> This is my first stormpilot/finnpoe fic, and I expect it won't be the last. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“War is hell.”

It’s a saying he’s heard repeated many times after he awakes from his coma. Uttered in low, bitter tones around the base, from high ranking to low, from young to old. 

It strikes him as odd, this saying. Of course war is hell. It’s death, destruction and pain. But what good is it to say? It doesn’t change anything. 

It’s not until weeks later, when he’s taking his first unassisted walk around the base, that he truly grasps the meaning, the reason behind its continual repetition.

He’s just coming out onto the air field when Poe and his team land, back from one of the many frequent skirmishes with the stormtroopers around the Ileenium system. The First Order may have been dealt a terrible blow, but it isn’t incapacitated by any means. They are putting up an exceptionally strong front for people who had just lost their massive death ray, as evidenced by the Resistance’s dwindling number of X-wing fighters. 

Every time Poe goes out, Finn has to restrain himself from begging him to stay. He knows it would do no good, being a hero is in Poe’s blood. 

Poe always smiles when Finn levels him with his worried eyes and protruding pouty lip, clapping him on the shoulder and giving the practiced line of: “I’ll be fine, buddy.”

And he always is. He comes back, significantly less confident each time, but no worse for wear. 

Except— except this time is different. Finn can tell as soon as Poe steps down from his fighter and on to the tarmac, the weight of the universe crushing in on his shoulders.

When Poe sees Finn walking towards him, the strangest combination of guilt and relief flicks across his face. Immediately throwing down his helmet, Poe begins to run to meet him, much in the way they first embraced. But his steps are heavier, his eyes no longer twinkling with the same joyful light. As he nears, Finn can see his face is taunt and his mouth is turned down, twisted in near desperation.

They collide as before, Poe’s hands coming up around him. But unlike before, he doesn’t release him straight away, grabbing the back of Finn’s shirt, fingers catching deep into the material. Pressing his stubbled face into the side of Finn’s neck, he breathes out his name in a broken gasp. 

Finn’s arms come up to encircle him, hugging back just as tightly. “Poe, what’s wrong?” he asks, face pressed into the pilot’s hair. “What happened?”

There’s no reply, just a heavy shuddering sob, choked off before the tears can come.

“Poe,” Finn says, voice low with pain, his friend’s distress is his own. He leads them into the semi-private darkness of the hangar, never releasing his grasp, resulting in a somewhat awkward shuffle.

A broken laugh escapes the pilot, “I’m sorry.” He pulls back slightly, hands still grasping Finn’s upper arms. “I’m sorry… I just—“ He shakes his head. “Just a rough flight is all.”

Poe seems like he’s going to pull away, his forehead creasing with confliction. His hands grip and loosen, grip and loosen on Finn’s arms unconsciously, grounding himself in the reality that Finn is real, that he’s here— and safe. 

“I had too—“ he starts hoarsely, and then swallows. His eyes harden and he begins again. “I had to kill one of my own pilots, so they wouldn’t be captured.”

Finn winces, a catch in his voice as he responds, “Oh, hell, Poe. I’m sorry.”

“They asked me to— they said that if they were ever captured, if there was no chance of rescue, that I should take them out.” The hardened eyes are shiny as marbles now, wet with unshed tears. “We were outnumbered, outgunned, and on the retreat when I got the message over my comm. They’d broken through the scrambling long enough to get out one last communication.”

“You’re the best shot in the Resistance, Black Leader,” he quotes bitterly. “Never thought I’d hate those words… You’re the best shot in the Resistance,” he repeats, voice going soft as he sinks into the memory, “if you get a clean shot, take it. I don’t want to tell these fucking bastards anything.” 

He looks up at Finn, tears finally spilling from his eyes. “I took the shot, Finn,” his voice breaks, throat constricting with gasping sobs. “I took the fucking shot. I took—“ he gasps, barely able to breath through the tears, “—the fucking shot.”

Finn pulls him into his chest, tucking him tightly against his shoulder. He murmurs comforting nonsense into Poe’s hair, unconsciously starting to sway back and forth. 

The pilot’s hands scrabble across Finn’s broad shoulders, searching for purchase, trying to bring him impossibly closer, his nose pressing against his friend’s soft neck. 

Finn doesn’t know what to say. This is his first experience with grief besides General Organa. And from what he can tell, when she is grieving, she wants to be left alone. 

This is obviously not the case with Poe, he needs this comfort, this contact. He also needs someone who knows what the hell to say.

“You did what you had to? You did your duty? You did the right thing?” All of those sound hollow, meaningless in the face of Poe’s agony. 

Maybe it’s better to say nothing at all, he thinks, as the pilot’s wracking sobs begin to slowly subside. No,…he has to say something. He has to. 

“I’m sorry, Poe. I’m so, so sorry.” He tilts up his friend’s tear stained face, meeting the shining umber eyes. “What can I do? What can I do to help you?”

Poe tries to smile, he really does, but even he can feel how depressing it must look. “Just be here, buddy. That’s all I need.”

He lays his head on Finn’s chest again, and they stand that way for many moments. Finn rocking steadily, making low comforting noises in the back of his throat whenever he feels it’s needed.

Time passes without notice, the sun lengthening the shadows of the fighters around the air field. The tears have ceased to flow, and they stand in silence, except for the whistling of the wind and the insect chorus of late afternoon. Poe tucks his face into Finn’s shoulder, taking a moment to inhale deeply and regain his composure. 

He catches a trace of Finn’s rich scent, mixed with the citrus of aftershave and the soft, clean smell of cotton. Involuntarily rubbing his face into the material, he blushes slightly as he realizes what he’s doing. 

Finn’s warm voice rumbles next to his ear. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Almost wasn’t,” Poe replies.

Finn’s hands twitch where they’re resting against his lower back. “What?”

“They nearly got me when I stayed behind to take the shot,” he mumbles, lips brushing lightly against Finn’s collarbone. 

Finn sighs shakily. “Thank the Force you got away. Are you alright? Is BB-8 alright?”

“Just a few nicks, nothing we haven’t gotten before.” As Finn shifts against him, he suddenly becomes very aware of how close they’re intertwined. He swallows. “I, uh, I’ll tell BB-8 you asked about them. They’ll really appreciate it.”

By the Force, this is so wrong, Poe thinks. After what he’d done, he shouldn’t be here, enjoying this like he is. He can’t help though, he just wants to revel in being alive, revel in the embrace of this sweet man, who has become closer to his heart than he’s been willing to admit. 

He should let go, should say thank you and maybe offer to grab dinner with him. But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t, goddamit, because doesn’t he deserve a moment of peace? Of comfort? Of love? After all he’s done, after all he’s been through, can’t he have this?

It’s as if Finn can sense the turmoil inside him. His thumbs beginning to rub comforting circles into Poe’s back. 

Enough. He won’t exploit Finn’s kindness because of his own emotional weakness. He matters too much to him. Poe starts to half-heartedly push Finn away, the hand on Finn’s chest distancing them, but the other hand still clasped around Finn’s neck, his head still buried into his friend’s chest. He doesn’t want to let go. He wants to touch, wants to have, wants to hold him for as long as Finn will let him. 

Finn isn’t sure what’s going through Poe’s head, but he can very nearly feel the war raging inside him. Poe struggles against him as he struggles with himself, clearly wrestling with his want, not knowing if it’s alright to take. 

Impulsively, Finn decides to take the conflict from him. Poe asked him to be here for him, and he can be here in this way. 

Unsure but determined, he slides a wide palm around the back of Poe’s neck, tilting back his head. He leans in close, tongue running over his bottom lip nervously, making clear his intent so Poe has the option to back away.

He doesn’t. Eyes locked on Finn’s lips, he bites under his own, and Finn takes that as an invitation. He presses his lips against Poe’s clumsily, not sure where his hands should be, not knowing at what angle his head should be.

Poe’s lips are warm and soft and rough all at once, and he can’t help the little sigh that escapes him as Poe responds. 

Poe nips nimbly at Finn’s bottom lip, and he jerks back slightly, eyebrows shooting towards his hairline. The pilot smiles, laughter in his eyes. A genuine smile this time. Good. Just as Finn had planned. Kinda.

Poe draws him back in, using a guiding hand to help him position himself, and slides their lips together once more. This time the kiss is fuller, longer…wetter. Which, Finn finds, isn’t as gross as he initially thought it would be. He’s actually liking this, a lot. 

He moans as Poe does something particularly clever with his tongue, his own eyebrows twitching up at how needy he sounds.

Poe pulls back this time, spit slicked lips split into a wide grin. “That was nice.”

Finn’s eyebrows crease, his confusion apparent. “I thought I liked Rey,” he states thoughtlessly, biting his lip and looking down at his feet.

Poe’s face drops a little, and he begins to pull away. 

“Sorry to have confused you,” he says with forced cheerfulness, his charming mask not quite covering his betrayed look, “you know how alluring I can be.”

Finn glances up, catching the wounded look in Poe’s eyes. 

“No, no!” he exclaims, pulling Poe back in by his forearms. “I just meant…” he struggles to explain. “I thought I liked girls?” he offers lamely.

Poe throws his head back and laughs, “Is that all?”

Finn toes the ground grumpily. “Yeah, I guess. No need to make fun. Kind of new at,” he waves an encompassing hand, “all of this.”

Poe sobers quickly. “I’m sorry. Did it occur to you that you might like both?”

“Well, no,” says Finn thoughtfully. “I assumed it had to be one or the other. Do you like both?”

“Nope.” Poe smirks. “Just guys.”

“Ah.” Finn rubs his neck awkwardly. “Is it okay to like both?”

Poe puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Of course. Both, some, all. It’s all fine.”

Finn brightens. “Well, I feel a lot better. That was really weighing on me.” 

He swallows, looking at Poe from under his lashes. “Do you, uh, think we could do that again?”

The sideways grin Poe gives him sends shivers down his spine. “As many times as you like.”

/

As many times as he liked had ended up being a lot of times, lasting far into the night. They hadn’t done much else but kiss, and Finn is glad of that. He isn’t quite sure if this is the right time for— well, other stuff. 

Poe still has a haunted look in his eyes, and though he’s calmed considerably, Finn has the feeling the guilt will continue to plague him for many nights to come— Finn’s own nightmares are never far away.

He finally understands what “War is hell” means. War is hell because you never leave it, or it never leaves you. You never forget. It torments you, your own personal punishment for the rest of your life in this universe. He had seen it today, in Poe’s eyes. The wretchedness, the inner turmoil, the guilting and berating, “What if I could have done more? What if I could have saved them?”

“War is hell” is said in solidarity, it is said in understanding, in unity. They are all in this hell together, they have all known that doubt. It is said to remind one another that they are not alone.

And Poe is not alone, Finn thinks, turning in the bed to face the man sleeping next to him. 

For now he is dozing soundly, peace spread across his handsome features. Finn runs a gentle finger down Poe’s profile, smiling as his nose twitches underneath. He is not alone. Neither of them are, anymore.

War is hell, but he is going to help Poe fight it, every step of the way. And in every war there must come a time of peace, where the fighting will cease, and the sounds of the guns will fade.

He’s going to help Poe find his peace— and he hopes Poe will want to do the same for him.

**Author's Note:**

> If interested, come on over and check out my [tumblr](http://katieamnesiaandrews.tumblr.com/). Or message me and we can talk about stormpilot! I don't have nearly enough people to talk to about them.


End file.
